Grief
by Lyxie
Summary: "I don't know who I am," he said. "You took that from me. You took everything from me. There was a woman who loved me, and I don't know if I loved her back. I stood at her grave and I felt nothing. That's your fault." How do you mourn if you don't know what you've lost? Post-BOTW.
1. Chapter 1: Fear

**A/N: Well hi there, friends! Here's a little something that's been churning around in my head for a while. On subsequent playthroughs of BotW, I've been increasingly obsessed with Mipha. We know so little about her, and about her relationship with Link. So I decided to explore it a bit more.**

 **Much of this fic is inspired by CrazygurlMadness' "One Last Year." If you haven't checked it out yet, I STRONGLY ADVISE that you do so. It fills in the backstory in a way that is pure perfection.**

 **Lastly: I'm also looking for beta readers for an original work of romantic fantasy/adventure that I've put together. If you're interested in providing me with critical feedback, please DM me and we can talk about it a bit more.**

 **And... that's it! Thank you for reading the author's notes. Don't forget to review when you're done. ;)**

 **Cheers,**

 **-L**

* * *

 _"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."_

 _\- C.S. Lewis_

Grief lay over the little house. Zelda imagined the feeling to be like chalk dust, sticky enough to coat its walls and windows in a thick, invisible layer.

Zelda wrapped her arms around herself, looking across the bridge at the little building. It was well-kept. There was light shining through its windows. And yet it seemed to radiate pain and sadness, waves of hopelessness and despair washing out from it like the tide.

Link's house. Link's grief.

Zelda turned to Paya with a wan smile.

"Thank you," she said, knowing her own voice was soft and full of heartbreak. "It was good of you to escort me here."

Paya shrugged her meek, self-conscious shrug.

"We're all worried," she said. She shrugged again. "M- maybe you can help?"

"I hope so," Zelda agreed, turning back to the house.

Six months. Six months since they'd sealed the Calamity. Six months that Zelda had been breathing fresh air, been free to move her body as she pleased. Six months, and it felt like a lifetime.

Two months ago, they'd gone to Zora's Domain. Before that, Link had been at her side constantly. But while she worked on the Divine Beast, he'd done something—gone somewhere—and even though his body and mind had come back, his heart had not. After he delivered her back to the Sheikah village, he'd taken his horse and left.

That had been a month ago. There had been no word from him. Nothing. Only silence, painful in its quietness, until Zelda hadn't been able to stand it anymore. She had asked Impa to have someone escort her to wherever Link was.

And Link, it appeared, was in a house in Hateno that was brimming with grief.

"Would you like m-me to come in with you?" Paya asked, taking an uncertain step forward. She held the bridle of her horse in one hand. "I c-can, if you'd l-l-like."

"No, thank you," Zelda said softly. She turned. "I know you're due at your aunt's."

With the death of the Calamity, it had become safe to travel. Paya had decided it was time to spend some time with her great-aunt Purah, who had restored herself to her former, aging body. Though the girl was shy and stammered, Paya was clever, and Zelda knew she would one day likely be the leader of the Sheikah. That meant knowing about the ancient technology—and Purah would share all her knowledge with her niece, Zelda was certain. That journey had given Zelda an easy escort to Hateno, where she would seek out the hero. Perhaps it wouldn't be proper, Zelda traveling to Link's home and staying there—but everyone was too worried to argue.

They'd been worried with good reason, Zelda thought, eyeing the sad house once more.

"You'll come f-find us if you n-n-need anything?" Paya asked as Zelda hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder. "You know how to g-get to the lab?"

"I'm sure everything will be fine," said Zelda. "But yes. I will come find you if I need help, and I know how to get to the lab." It was hard to miss, sitting atop a giant hill and all — but Zelda didn't say that. She summoned what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Please give Purah my regards. I'll come see you two as soon as I am able."

"Alright," Paya agreed. She led the horses away from the bridge, looking over her shoulder at Zelda one last time with worry. Zelda gave a little wave, forcing a smile, pretending everything would be alright.

But it might not be.

Zelda took a deep breath and screwed up her courage. She'd fought the Calamity—survived inside of it—for a century. If she could do that, she could do this.

She set her shoulders, strode forward, and knocked gently on the door.

No response.

"Link?" she asked the wood. "Link?"

Still no response.

"I know you're in there," she said, then waited.

Still nothing.

"I'm coming in."

The door was locked, but a touch of her power flipped the latch, and she let herself in. She stepped through, shutting the door behind her to keep out the cold. It was the depth of winter, and though the day was clear, it was chilly outside. The sky overhead was heavy with clouds. It would likely snow soon.

Zelda looked around. The house was neat and orderly. Racks of weapons hung on the wall. New furniture, barely used, was arranged in a pleasing way. A small fire was blazing in the hearth. Zelda set her rucksack down by the door.

No Link.

There was a staircase to her right, and she ascended it. "Link?" She found herself in a little loft, and it was there that she found the hero.

He was lying in his bed, huddled under blankets. If downstairs had been orderly, upstairs was not. A trident — Mipha's trident — lay on the floor next to the bed. There were dirty dishes piled around, and the loft smelled of unwashed linens.

"Link?" Zelda asked again.

"Go away," he mumbled.

Zelda looked at him. His hair was greasy and unwashed. His cheeks were rough with a surprisingly thick new beard. His blue eyes, usually so alert and intent, were glassy with pain.

Zelda had never been allowed the luxury of grief. When her mother died, she'd tucked her pain deep within herself and carried on: she hadn't even shed a tear, and the king had been proud of her for it. When her father, and the champions, and all of Hyrule had burned, she hadn't dared think of it. She wondered what it would be like to let herself feel the pain that still lurked and throbbed within her.

She looked at Link and her heart twisted.

Her own pain could wait. Would wait, as it already had for so long.

She gathered Link's dishes and carried them downstairs.

She put the dishes on the sideboard, then checked the bucket by the fire. He had fresh water, but not much. Glad she hadn't taken off her winter gear just yet, Zelda went back into the cold. Though it was only afternoon, the light was dimming. The sun would go down soon — no more than an hour, Zelda thought as she squinted up at the dreary clouds. She'd found two buckets and a yoke under the stairs, and she made her way to the pond by the side of Link's house. The surface had frozen, but there was a little stable beside it. Zelda took a moment to check on Epona — the horse was in far better shape than her master, with fresh hay and warm bedding. And in the other stall sat a heavy sledgehammer. It took all of Zelda's strength to heft it. She wobbled out to the pond and used it to break the surface of the ice, then dragged it back to the shelter of the stable. She filled her buckets, managed to struggle them and the yoke onto her shoulders, and swayed back to the house. She left the buckets by the fire, found two more, and repeated her miserable chore. She was panting by the time she'd finished a second trek, sweating in spite of the cold.

There were no signs of life from the loft. Zelda stoutly ignored a wave of alarm at Link's inattention. She was the intruder here: it was hardly polite of her to expect him to leap to his feet to help her.

Even still…

While the four buckets of fresh water warmed, Zelda set about to cleaning Link's dirty dishes. He hadn't been doing much cooking for himself, it appeared: judging by the crumbs (not to mention the mostly-eaten loaf of bread on the sideboard) he'd been sticking mostly to sandwiches. That was fine with Zelda: it was easier to clean off breadcrumbs than crusted rice, although it was worryingly out of character for her favorite glutton to eat only plain fare…

She already knew something was wrong. That much was obvious. Zelda told herself to quit belaboring the point, and focus on the tasks at hand.

She finished cleaning the dishes, then went back upstairs. Link had fallen back asleep. She didn't dare brush her fingers against his forehead to check for fever — didn't want to see what happened when he was startled into wakefulness. Instead, she breathed carefully through her mouth as she gathered the chamberpot (thankfully not too full) and took it downstairs, outside, and to the latrine some distance away. She dumped its contents, but some foulness was still stuck to the side. Shivering, Zelda made her way back to the cabin, grabbed the mostly-empty bucket, and hauled it out to the pond. She drew water, then used that to clean the inside of the chamberpot, making sure to dump the refuse into the latrine, instead of the soil where it could run and poison drinking water.

Chamberpot clean, Zelda carried it and the bucket back to the house. The chamberpot went back to the loft, and Zelda scrubbed her hands clean beside the fire. She looked around the house: it wasn't tidy, precisely… more sterile. But it needed dusting, and Zelda knew that was something she could do to make it more comfortable, more home-like. The weapons of the fallen Champions hung on the wall, and though it choked her up to see it, she didn't let the grief through.

There would be time for grief later. Right now, Link needed her.

She found a rag and she dusted: dusted the weapons and their frames, dusted the tables and bookshelves and books, dusted every corner and cranny she could reach. She threw a few more logs on the fire, then glanced up at the loft again. Still nothing.

There was food stashed in chests under the stairs, and Zelda rummaged around for ingredients. She was no cook, but she could manage mushrooms and rice well enough. Link had taught her the recipe long ago, when they'd traveled Hyrule together. He'd taught her everything she knew about survival beyond the castle's walls, actually: how to cook, how to camp, how to soothe a frightened horse.

And then after the Calamity, when they traveled together, Zelda saw how people spoke to him. How they clung to him as though he were a lifeline, as though they were still afraid to hope. He was always gentle with the people who greeted him. Patient. Kind.

And now he was hurting, and it was Zelda's turn to help.

Zelda let the mushrooms and rice cook over the fire, and looked around for something to do. Some way to help. Link's rucksack was by the door, still packed; Zelda unpacked it. Weapons and ammunition went into their drawers and up onto their racks. Dirty clothing went into a basket under the stairs, as did Link's camp blankets. There was a pile of clean fabric, and Zelda began to rummage through it. Trousers and socks, sheets — all had holes, snags, or tears.

Good thing Link had taught Zelda to sew.

She searched until she found a needle and thread, then took the mending over by the fire. As darkness fell outside, she worked by the flickering light, patching holes and fixing what she could.

She only wished she knew how to mend Link.

* * *

Link wouldn't eat in front of her. Zelda quickly found that the best strategy was to take food up to him, leave it by his bedside, and return for the bowls later. Zelda cooked, she scoured the house, she even tended to Link's weapons and gear. She went and sat in the stable with Epona, passing the long, freezing hours as best she could, worrying. It snowed, and it was cold, and the days were short and dark. Some of the melancholia that Link must have felt seemed to be infecting Zelda. But she refused to acknowledge it. Pressed it down into her where the rest of the darkness sat.

At night, she slept on a pallet she made up in front of the fire. Link didn't offer her his bed, and she didn't ask. They barely exchanged words: though he was ordinarily quiet, he seemed resentful of her being in his home, wouldn't speak to her at all. And she didn't know how to reach him.

On the third day, Zelda decided that what Link needed was a bath. She'd found a large wooden washtub in the storage shed behind the house, and she dragged it through the snow, through the front door, and set it before the fire. Then, she labored under the yoke to fill the buckets from the pond — her muscles ached from ferrying buckets to and from the house, and from hefting the sledgehammer to break the ice. But she didn't complain.

She spent the better part of the afternoon heating water over the fire. Finally, when the bath was ready, she went upstairs. Link was tangled in his sheets, and opened his eyes when she crested the stairs. She'd never seen him look so dull. Zelda summoned a smile.

"I've drawn a bath for you," she told him. "Come downstairs. You need to wash."

"I'm fine," he said woodenly.

"You're not fine," Zelda said. "You have a beard and you smell like a dead Hinox. I need to change your sheets and you need a bath." Her temper had begun to spark. She stamped it out. "Come downstairs, Link."

He regarded her with his dull eyes for a long moment.

"I don't need you," he told her.

She thought about agreeing with him. Or challenging him to prove it. Instead, she tried another wan smile.

"Please," she said softly.

The 'please' did the trick. Link hauled himself from the bed, attired only in his undershorts. Zelda remembered the first time she'd seen him in them, when they'd traveled together so long ago on her pilgrimage to the three springs. She'd never seen a man undressed before, never even seen a man without a shirt. But she quickly learned that for two people traveling in close company — even a man and a woman — there wasn't much modesty to be had.

Once Link was out of the bed and downstairs, Zelda took her time in the loft. She stripped the bed of its stinking linens, and remade it with new sheets. The quilt didn't smell too badly, so Zelda decided to leave it until after she'd washed and dried the laundry. She could swap it out with one of the clean camp blankets.

Her ears caught the soft splashing of Link in the tub. She knelt and looked under the bed. Mipha's trident was there. Zelda thought about picking up and putting it away on its rack, then decided not to. Link had brought it upstairs for a reason.

She peeked over the railing of the loft. Link's modesty was safely covered by the water. She took the dirty linens in her arms and hauled them down the stairs. She tossed them into the basket with the rest of the dirty fabric, then looked at Link. Firelight flickered across the water of the tub. Outside, wind and snow brushed wintry fingers against the windows. He looked very lonely.

"Would you like me to wash your hair?" Zelda asked him.

Link shrugged listlessly.

Zelda rolled up her sleeves and pulled a stool up to the back of the tub. She'd set a bottle of shampoo and a small wash pail beside the tub, and now she grabbed the pail, dipped it into the water, and carefully poured its contents over Link's head, taking extra caution not to get water in his eyes. She squirted shampoo into her palms and began to rub it into Link's hair, massaging his scalp. He sat still, almost lifeless beneath her hands, and her heart broke for him.

His hair was thick, like a wolf's pelt. Even wet, Zelda could tell how soft it was. Before the Calamity, at the end, she'd often wondered what it would feel like to run her hands through it, especially if he was kissing her, or… doing other, more intimate things. She'd fantasized about what it might be like to have Link in her bed — and she wasn't alone. She knew most of the women of the castle had wondered what it might be like to have that power and muscle over them, to feel his skin against theirs…

No matter. It was a girlish fantasy, and any traces of girlishness or fantasy in Zelda were gone.

She rinsed the soap from Link's hair, then gave it a second rinse for good measure. There was soap nearby, so she tended to his shoulders and what parts of his back she could reach. He was covered in scars: old ones she remembered, puckered scars from his near-death, and shiny new scars that were still faintly pink. She watched his muscles flex under his skin as she scrubbed his shoulders clean, and thought about all the weight those shoulders had borne. The weight of a kingdom. The weight of the world.

She couldn't blame him for breaking down.

Her fingers must have been tracing the line of an old, long scar because he sighed.

"I don't remember how I got that one," he told her.

"You were once given a lashing," she told him. "When you were a page. You came away from the experience with several scars."

He stirred under her hands at that.

"What did I do?" he asked her.

"You got in a fight," she told him. Her fingers smoothed across the scar. "Several fights. Some of the older boys were picking on a younger child who was far smaller and weaker than them. Even though you weren't much bigger, you decided to take them on. You beat them badly — and they told on you. The punishment for fighting was lashes," she said. Her fingers paused. "You all got them that day."

Link went still, as though he was listening very intently all of a sudden.

"Were you there?" he asked her.

"I was not," she told him. "Though I heard the stories. And you told me about it once you became my guard."

Link nodded slowly. His wet hair slid over one wide shoulder.

"How old were we?" he asked her.

"When you were lashed?" Zelda asked. "You were eleven. I was eight."

His hands were on the rim of the tub. They clenched.

"How old was I when I lived in Zora's Domain?" he asked her.

Zelda reached for a comb.

"You were very young," she said. "Your father was stationed there when you were six. You stayed there for three years, until you were old enough to go to Hyrule Castle and become a page."

Link didn't respond. But there was something new to his quietness, a kind of alertness that hadn't been there before. So Zelda continued talking as she started combing his hair.

"You told me once that you had a difficult time adjusting to life in the castle. You weren't used to being enclosed. You missed the water in Zora's Domain, and your family, and your friends there. But you were good at fighting, and that helped you adjust. Though," she carefully pulled the comb through his thick hair, "you said what you had most difficulty adjusting to was wearing shoes. When you lived in Zora's Domain, you never needed them.

"Sometimes, the Zora would swim down the river to the castle, and would update us on Zora's Domain," Zelda continued. "I remember seeing you with Demon Sergeant Seggin once. He'd reported to my father, and then he had sought you out afterwards to deliver letters from your father and friends. I was walking by the courtyard where you two were, and you looked so happy to see him." She gently pried a tangle out of his hair. "Your smile was like the sun coming out. And then you flung yourself at him. I'd never seen a Zora embrace a Hylian before, but the Demon Sergeant seemed just as happy to see you as you were to see him. The Zora were all very fond of you."

Link shifted away from Zelda's touch, and she let him go.

"Did something happen?" she asked as he pulled away. "In Zora's Domain?"

"No," he said.

"Will you tell me what's going on?" Zelda asked him.

Link didn't turn, didn't look at her.

"The first time I went back to Zora's Domain, I didn't have any of my memories," he said. "And Seggin hated me."

"He doesn't hate you anymore," Zelda said, thinking back to the old Zora's respectful greeting.

"He doesn't," Link agreed. "But I remember more now."

Zelda felt her fingers clenching in her lap.

"How much do you remember?"

"Not enough," he said darkly.

She wasn't sure if he was talking about their memories, or about their conversation. Either way, they didn't speak again until Link asked Zelda to leave so he could get out of the tub. Zelda complied, bundling herself in a thick winter cloak and making her way out to the stable to check on Epona. The horse was better company than her master: the stable was warm, and she seemed to be happy to see Zelda. She had enough hay and oats, and flicked her tail in welcome when Zelda walked into the little stable.

Zelda sat with Epona for a while, brushing the horse and wishing she knew how to help the creature's master. Whatever hurt dwelled in Link was beyond her power to heal. Zelda stifled a sense of rising frustration. He felt so distant, so far: almost as though his heart had retreated into that horrible sleep in the Shrine of Resurrection, leaving his body to wander, adrift.

* * *

It had been a week and she still didn't know how to reach him.

At least he was getting out of bed more now. He'd come and sit by the fire for an hour or two every day. They didn't speak of Zora's Domain again after Link's bath, but Zelda did go down to the village and borrow a book of Hylian history from the schoolmistress. When Link seemed up for it, she'd read the book aloud, filling in the gaps in his knowledge of the kingdom's history. She could have told him, of course: her knowledge of Hyrule was far deeper than anything in a children's history primer. But the cadence of the words seemed to soothe Link, and Zelda appreciated the opportunity to read.

"Late in the Second Era," Zelda read one morning as Link sat listlessly by the fire, "the Hylian Parliament annexed a southern province. It was known at the time as Ordon, and had petitioned the King numerous times over the previous century for annexation. There was nothing south of Ordon other than the sea, and though the people of Ordon enjoyed their democratic society, they needed the protection of their Hylian neighbors from some of the raiding parties that were coming to their shores in pirate longboats. This annexation came with a steep cost however; when the Calamity rose at the end of the Second Era and washed Hyrule in darkness, Ordon went with its new neighbor into the twilight."

Link shifted.

"I don't want to hear about the Calamity," he said. "Not in any era."

Zelda paused, blinking.

"Alright," she said. She turned a few pages ahead and cleared her throat. "Once the Calamity had been vanquished, the people of Hyrule came together to rebuild. However, the military was deeply corrupt, and it took the leadership of the Ordonian Hero to turn the troops around. The relationships he'd forged during his journeys led to stronger allegiance to the crown princess of the time, Zelda Harkinian IX, with notable contributions to the rebuilding effort being made by the Zoras of Zora's Domain. When famine spread across the country in the year after the Calamity, it was Prince Ralis who directed his people to share their fish and kelp with the citizens of Hyrule."

Link shifted again.

"Stop," he said.

Zelda squinted at him. She closed the book with a snap and strode over to kneel before him.

"Link," she said, resting her hand on his knee. "You need to talk to me. What's going on?"

He shook his head firmly.

"Please," she said. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

He turned his face away from her.

"I don't want your help," he told her.

That hurt. But she recognized the set of his shoulders and his jaw in a sudden swirl of pain — knew what he was feeling.

"I didn't want your help either, once upon a time," she told him. "But you didn't let me drive you away. And now, I'm here for you, even if you don't want me."

"That was different," Link said. His voice was becoming more agitated. More snappish. "We were working towards a goal."

"And now that we've achieved it, we need to move on," Zelda said. "Please, Link. Please tell me what's wrong."

He looked at her for a long moment.

"You knew me back then," he said. "Better than anyone by the end. Right?"

"Right," Zelda agreed.

"Was I in love with Mipha?"

Of all the questions Zelda had been expecting, that hadn't been one of them.

"I don't know," she said frankly. "You were very fond of her — you were very close — but love? I… I truly don't know, Link."

Link let out a low, dark chuckle.

"Why not?" he asked her. "Didn't you know everything? Or were you so busy with your own feelings that you didn't notice anyone else's?"

What? What had gotten into him?

"What on earth are you talking about, Link?" she asked.

"Mipha," Link said angrily. There was a furious blue sparkle in his eyes, and Zelda thought for a horrible moment that that rage was directed at her. "She was in love with me. She wanted to marry me. Prince Sidon told me so. She loved me so much that she made me armor, and I can barely remember her. I don't know if I loved her back." He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "She loved me and I don't remember her."

"It's not your fault," Zelda said. "The Sleep of Restoration—"

"You don't understand," Link said angrily. He looked up. His face was very close to her own, and very angry. Zelda suddenly recalled how dangerous he really was: she'd seen him kill three silver Lynels once in a small space, and he hadn't been as strong or as deadly as he was now. He could hurt her.

But he wouldn't.

"Please help me, then," Zelda said, when it seemed like an explanation wasn't forthcoming. Link had frozen, his face a hair's breadth away from her own. "I want to understand."

"I don't know who I am," he said after a moment, sitting back. "You took that from me. You took everything from me. You kept me alive to serve you, and you took away my memories. Who I am. There was a woman who loved me, and I don't know if I loved her back. I stood at her grave and I felt nothing. That's your fault. And no amount of playing house or pretending you're sorry will fix it. Not unless you can make my memories come back."

The words hit her like a slap. Her fault. She swallowed her pain. Princesses didn't feel pain. She force herself to meet Link's blue eyes. They were feral, almost animal. She was proud her voice remained steady.

"Is that truly how you feel? Do you want me to go?" she asked him.

His throat worked. After a moment, he swallowed.

"Do what you want, princess," he told her.

Zelda looked away from him.

"All I want is to help you," she said.

He looked up. His blue eyes were still full of pain and anger.

"I don't need your help," he said again. "If that's the only reason why you're here, you should leave."

Zelda looked at him: the angry set of his jaw, the tense line of his shoulders, the way his hands had clenched into fists.

"Alright," she said. "I'll go."

The Rito had given her a set of Snowquill gear, which Zelda had worn on her journey to Hateno and left beside the door. She pulled the thick pants and tunic on over her clothes, gathered a change of clothing and loaded it into her bag, and took one last look at Link. He was still sitting beside the fire, and was clearly looking anywhere but at her.

Resigned, she hoisted her bag onto her back and slipped out the door into the snow. As she walked away from the cabin, she heard a wounded roar, followed by a loud crash, as though someone had flung a pot against a wall.

Zelda refused to cry.

* * *

 _Uploaded on Thursday, October 19, 2017_


	2. Chapter 2: Compassion

**A/N: Wow, Thursday really crept up on me. Which is a good thing, since that means that the weekend is almost here!**

 **I'm still looking for a handful more beta readers for an original story I've finished. I've got some wonderful volunteers who are helping me so far, and I'd like just a few more. I'd like to extend a special invitation to ladies who like fantasy and romance and characters who are a hot mess. If you liked Into the Woods, you'd be a great candidate to beta! And of course, this offer is open to anyone: whether you identify as a lady, a gent, or non-binary, if you like reading those kinds of books, and would be interested in giving me feedback (it doesn't even have to be in-depth feedback!), please DM me.**

 **A last note before we dive in: some of you have expressed surprise at the strength of Link's reaction, especially given that he's generally portrayed as pretty stoic. But this is truly an exploration of what the psychological toll is when you're dealing with memory loss and grief. I thought that the questions raised by Mipha were so fascinating that I had to poke at them. Were she and Link in love? What if they were? Or what if they weren't? What if Link can't remember? It would mess with anyone. Not to mention everything Zelda went through, too... but more on that later.**

 **I mean, Majora's Mask was great and all, but BotW presents some really messed up mind f-s as well.**

 **Anyway, that's all from me. Review, favorite, or DM me to let me know if you liked chapter 2. It keeps me going!**

* * *

 _"Compassion is knowing our darkness well enough that we can sit in the dark with others. It is never a relationship between the wounded and the healed. It is a relationship between equals."_

 _— Pema Chodron_

Purah's lab was warm and comforting. Zelda's gear had kept her sufficiently insulated on the long, chilly hike up, but even still, she was glad for the fire and the warm food, and gladder for the company. Even the glow of friendship couldn't banish the chill in Zelda's heart, though.

Purah and Paya had been gratifyingly pleased to see Zelda. They noticed she was out of sorts immediately, but didn't ask any questions, which Zelda appreciated. After warm soup and a serving of cocoa and an hour of safe conversation, Purah's expression changed, and Zelda knew that the time for pleasantries was over.

She sighed and sat up straighter, mentally preparing for what would come next. Paya caught the shift in mood and her eyes flitted between Purah and Zelda, whose expressions had gone very sober.

"Not that it's not lovely to see you, but what's wrong, princess? Why are you here? Is it Link?" Purah asked, folding her spotted hands in her lap.

"Yes," Zelda said unhappily. She met Purah's eyes. "Link is very unwell. He's distraught, and I can't reach him."

"Wh-why is he upset?" stammered Paya from her seat beside her great-aunt.

Zelda swallowed an explanation about Mipha and the Zoras and everything else. That story was Link's to tell. Not hers. Instead, she settled on the safest explanation. "His memories aren't coming back," she told the gathered Sheikah. Symin was nearby, hovering around the bookshelf and looking on curiously. "He feels adrift. And he blames me for his pain."

"That's understandable, since he was placed in the Sleep of Restoration on your orders." Purah frowned thoughtfully. "Even still. It isn't your fault."

Zelda didn't respond. In truth, she could shoulder the blame for Link's unhappiness. She already shouldered so much fault, what was a little more atop that sum? "I'd wondered if there was anything we can do to help him," she said instead. "That's why I came up here. Since Sheikah technology took his memories away, can it perhaps give them back? More than it already has, anyway."

Purah and Symin exchanged a long look. Zelda didn't like that look. She'd seen it exchanged between Purah and Robbie nearly a century ago in the lab when unhappy results came back from Zelda's tests. She bit back a question and fisted her hands in her lap, waiting.

"Princess," said Purah gently after a long moment, "you left your own memories scattered around Hyrule for him to find. You used your power so that they would bind to him in the hopes that they would help him regain his own memories. You used magic and technology together to help him as much as you could. The rest is out of your hands."

Zelda remembered: After she'd sealed away the Master Sword and temporarily warded the Calamity, she had taken a last, desperate day to return to the places that she'd taken pictures of, and had plucked the memories from her head and sealed them there for Link to find. Then the Sheikah Slate had gone into the Shrine of Resurrection to await Link's awakening - she hadn't been able to bring herself to look at the man floating in the healing bath, as still and lifeless as a corpse. She'd sealed the shrine, said goodbye to Impa, and strode forward to meet her fate.

Memories, Zelda thought, shaking away from her own. Dratted, tricky, cursed things.

"It worked, to an extent," Zelda pointed out when she realized Purah was still waiting for her to speak. "He has memories of the Champions that I didn't leave behind for him."

"That's true," Purah acknowledged. "But the Champions' spirits lingered here for a full century. It's possible that their own memories transferred to important spaces and gave them a foothold for staying in this world. There's nothing more we can do for him. You need to understand that. To think otherwise would be clinging to false hope, and I think we've all had quite enough of that for ten thousand lifetimes."

The words pierced through Zelda's fragile dreams of restoring Link's memories. Her shoulders slumped the slightest bit. _Princesses don't slouch,_ she reminded herself, and sat up straighter, tilting her chin up. _Not even when they're disappointed._

"I suppose you're right," she acquiesced unhappily. "And you're quite sure nothing can be done for him?"

Purah's lined, spotted face was crinkled in sympathy.

"I'm sure," said Purah. "It's out of your hands, princess."

Zelda wanted to scrub her hands over her face like she'd seen Link do when he was weary. But she didn't.

Princesses didn't do that sort of thing.

Instead, she summoned the most dignified smile she could manage.

"Very well. Given that Link is currently grieving the loss of - of his memories, what do you think I should do?" she asked. "Should I try to offer counsel so that so he isn't on his own as he works through this? Or perhaps…" her voice caught and she paused, taking a deep breath. "Perhaps it would be best if I left him alone entirely?"

Purah glanced at the yellowing sunlight that trickled in through one smudged window. "He needs you. But it'll be dark soon. While I don't like the thought of Link grieving alone, the sun will be down well before you make it back to town, even if you leave right now. You should stay the night at least. He wouldn't want you wandering around in the darkness on his account."

 _But she already had, for a century._ Zelda shook the thought from her head as she followed Purah's gaze to the window. Though it was only a few hours after noon, the sun was low in the sky. But it was clear and cloudless and not too windy: if she had a lantern, she should be alright once the sun set.

She ignored the lurch in her stomach at the thought of going into blackness alone.

Link needed her, she reminded herself. He'd been brave and fought his way to her through far more frightening conditions. She could be brave, too. For him.

"He was hurting so badly, Purah," Zelda said softly. "I don't want to make it worse."

"At least he sh-showed his feelings to you," said Paya, surprising Zelda with her interjection. "B-back in Kakariko he d-didn't ever express himself to an-anyone."

"If left to linger, grief can be like a poison," Purah added. "It's best not to let it dwell too long in the body. If he's grieving, that means he's healing. You're good for him, princess. You can go back tomorrow."

Zelda thought of the shout that had followed her across the bridge, the shattering of crockery. Her spine straightened.

"I rather think I will go back tonight, actually," she said. "Might I borrow a journal and a lantern? I should be quite alright to walk back if I've a torch to light my way once darkness falls."

"Are you sure princess?" Purah looked uncertain. "It'll get dark soon. Truly, you're welcome here overnight."

Zelda tilted her chin up.

"I am not afraid of the dark," she lied.

Symin made a lantern for Zelda and brought her a journal. She decided to leave her pack at Purah's, thinking she might need the change of clothes at some point. She said her farewells to the Sheikah, and promised to visit again soon. Then she donned her snow gear and ventured back out into the winter, the journal she'd asked for tucked securely inside her quilted doublet.

The view from the lab was breathtaking: the hills and trees were all blanketed in white, with the sky descending from blue to pink above her. And it was cold, so cold it bit at her nose and cheeks. Panting out little gusts of white air, Zelda resigned herself to another long walk, and began to make her way back to Link's lonely little house.

Sunset turned the snow around her golden, then shadows turned it gray. True dark fell as she was passing the farm above the village, and Zelda was glad for the lantern. She was glad she'd lied. Purah and Paya and Symin certainly didn't need to know that Zelda sometimes woke in the pitch blackness, unsure of whether the darkness around her was mere shadow, or the form of the Calamity taunting her, enveloping her.

The Calamity. A hundred years of torture.

And this hike was the first time she' been alone, truly alone, since the day it swallowed her.

The weight of her solitude pressed down on her. Zelda paused, then sighed and rested her back against a tree. She tilted her head back and embraced the feeling of cold bark pressing through her hair and against her scalp. For a hundred years, she'd been part of the Calamity, and yet not. She could feel its emotions, feel its strength wax and wane. She'd been alone except for her prayers, surrounded by a sentient evil that whispered, promised, tried to make her weak.

It was very fortunate that she'd had so many years of practice at prayer before she went into the Calamity. She knew how to pray, knew how to wait. For so long, her only thoughts had been to hold on just a moment longer, just one moment more, to last long enough that even if she died, Link would have a fighting chance...

And then, suddenly in the darkness, she'd felt it, felt the spark that had laid dormant ever since that horrible day at Fort Hateno. She'd reached out with her mind — and there he'd been.

Link. Her light. Alive and awake. And for a moment, his mind had touched hers, pure and bright and as new as the dawn.

 _Open your eyes,_ she remembered telling him. _Open your eyes._

Zelda slid down the tree to sit in the snow at its base. When she'd instructed Purah and Robbie to carry Link to the Shrine of Resurrection, she hadn't been thinking about the Calamity. Hadn't been thinking about destiny, or Hyrule. She'd been thinking only of Link and keeping him alive. And when he'd woken up, she'd been filled with joy, burning and incandescent. Because he'd survived. He had a second chance at life.

Though she knew that she'd made the right choice for Hyrule, the question still remained… Had she made the right choice for Link? He'd awoken to a strange world, a land that was unfamiliar and broken, and had been told it was his duty to save it. And now that his duty was fulfilled, what came next?

Zelda didn't know. Well, rather, she knew what _she_ wanted. But Link seemed to be falling apart before her very eyes.

A thread of envy swirled within her. When did _she_ get to fall apart?

 _Princesses didn't fall apart,_ she reminded herself. _And they definitely didn't sit in the snow in the darkness._

Wearily, she clambered back up to her feet, dusted snow off her rump, and continued on her dark, freezing trudge back down the hill.

With the darkness came wind. It didn't whisper in her ears the way the Calamity had, not quite, but it was enough to make her doubt herself. Link had it made it clear he didn't want her around. That he felt he didn't need her. Was she only imposing on him, demanding he give more parts of himself to her when she'd done nothing to earn them?

And yet... He'd always been there when she needed him. Even when she didn't want him. Even when she hated him and hated herself for needing him.

Now it was her turn to be there for him. Even if he hated her for it.

The moon was rising in the sky like a giant, glowing snowflake when Zelda crunched wearily back across the bridge. She was cold and tired, and dreading what awaited her at the house. There was dim firelight shining out through the windows — good. But when Zelda knocked at the door, there was no answer. Less good.

Carefully, she opened the door and poked her head in. "Link?" She looked around. She could see that he'd apparently gone on a rampage of some sort — weapons had been pulled off the walls, pottery had been broken, chairs overturned. Zelda pushed the door open a little further, worry thudding in her chest. "Link?"

He was sitting slumped in front of the dying fire. At the sound of her voice he looked up. He was a mess, his long hair tangled, his eyes red.

"I thought you left," he croaked. Her heart twisted in her chest at how pathetic he was. She had done this. Done it twice over: done it by taking his memories, and done it by leaving him.

"I did," she said, not allowing any of her thoughts to show on her face. "But I came back." She stepped inside and began peeling off her snow gear. Broken crockery crunched under her boots. She looked around at the mess, and then looked at Link's face. He looked defiant and vulnerable and ashamed.

"Let me clean this up," she told him in the gentle tones he'd taught her to use on frightened horses.

She was glad that the little cabin wasn't big. It didn't take her long to fetch a broom and sweep up the mess, which she set aside in a basket. She'd dump the shards in the town trash-pit later. Link stayed huddled before the fire, as though he was unable to believe she'd returned. He watched her with a wary sort of hunger as she moved around the little house, setting furniture to rights and putting weapons back on their racks.

When she was done, she returned to her doublet. She retrieved the journal she'd begged from Purah and walked over to Link. She knelt beside him before the fire and looked at him. He truly was a wreck, his eyes bloodshot, his skin splotchy, his hands shaking with feeling. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry for leaving you. I walked up to Purah's," she told him. "I wanted to know if there was any Sheikah technology that might be able to bring your memories back."

His gaze sharpened on her face.

"Is there?" he asked her.

"No."

His whole body seemed to sigh as his eyes flitted away from hers. He radiated disappointment as he studied the fire. So she held out the journal. "I asked for this instead. It's blank," she added as Link took it from her, his gaze fixing on her once more. "I thought you could write down any memories you have — from before, or from now. To help you figure out who you are."

He didn't open the journal. His eyes stayed fixed on her face, intent, intense. Zelda felt a sudden sympathy for the insects she'd put under microscopes in her youth. She felt as though she were being examined, and she didn't care for the sensation.

"Why did you come back?"

Why had she come back? That was an easy enough question to answer.

"Because I know what it's like to be alone." She forced her eyes to meet his. "I want you to know that you aren't alone. I'm here with you. Here in the darkness."

His eyes stayed on hers for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Thank you," he said at last. "I don't — I don't want to be alone."

"I know," Zelda responded. An unwilling smile quirked along her lips. The words ' _Me neither'_ teased at the edges of her mind, but she put them aside.

Princesses didn't admit their weaknesses.

"Please tell me what you need," she said. "If you want me to tell you about something specific, or just talk, or read, or sit in silence. Or if there's food you want, or — or anything. Please, Link. I'm here for you."

"Thank you." He looked suddenly uncertain, and small, and vulnerable. "Will you — will you just sit here? With me?"

"Of course." Zelda scooted over to sit beside him on the rug, and was surprised when he reached out for her hand.

She stared at their intertwined fingers for a long moment. Nobody had touched her— not for comfort— since Urbosa. She'd forgotten how powerful, how soothing it could be.

She leaned against Link's side and felt his tensely coiled muscles relax.

"I'll stay," she reassured him in a soft whisper as they sat together before the fire. He didn't respond, but his grip tightened a little more on her hand.

* * *

He didn't get better all at once. But he did get better in slow steps. After another week where Zelda tried not to step on Link's toes too much, he finally opened up to her.

"Join me," he said, gesturing to the empty spot beside him.

Link seemed to appreciate the comfort that came from physical contact. Since he didn't have any sort of sofa, Zelda had made a nest of blankets in front of the fire. Link spent a lot of time huddled in the blankets, watching the flames, content to have Zelda sitting beside him or holding his hand.

Zelda put down the tunic she'd been embroidering for herself and rose from the table. It was evening, and night stretched against the windows like watching eyes.

 _The Calamity is gone,_ Zelda reminded herself as she knelt beside Link. _We defeated it._ But she said none of these things aloud. Instead, she took Link's hand in hers and settled so that their legs and shoulders were touching.

"I can't remember anything," Link said without preamble. "I've tried, and tried, and the only memories I have are… are the ones you left for me on the Sheikah Slate, and the four from the Champions, and the one from the Deku Tree. Nothing else is coming to me. I — I've traveled all across the country, and nothing else has come back to me. I don't even know where my home was," he said with a frustrated gesture.

Zelda could tell him. She knew. She knew everything there was to know about him from before the Calamity… except for his most personal thoughts.

But she didn't say that. Instead, she waited.

"I've encountered all these people," Link said. "Who knew me, or who know of me. Who talk about the heroic deeds of Champion Link. People who were friends with me back before, or who loved me back before, and who expect me to still be that same person." His fingers tightened around hers as his hands clenched involuntarily. "But I'm not. I'm not him. I'm just… me. And I feel like I'm standing in a dead man's shadow."

Zelda could understand that. Oh, how she understood it. Still, she said nothing, and waited for Link to finish speaking his piece.

"The first time I went to Zora's Domain, everything was still so new. I was so new to this world. And I didn't understand what the Zora were saying when they talked about me, or the Champions, or — or Mipha. I hadn't remembered anything. But now… now, I remember just enough to understand how complicated it really was. How tragic her death was," Link added. "As far as I can tell, the man she loved never loved her back. And she died before her time, tragically in battle. And then—" his voice began to rise, "and then, her spirit didn't get to rest. She was trapped in torture and grief for a hundred years, and I freed her. I spoke to her spirit face-to-face, and I didn't know her. I didn't feel anything for her," Link said unhappily. "I didn't recognize her. I didn't know. How — how can I live with myself, knowing I caused someone so much pain and grief, and knowing that I wasted my one chance to provide her with solace — or, or closure, or —" He trailed off and made a frustrated noise.

Zelda blinked a few times. She was surprised to find tears in her eyes. She willed them away as she waited for Link to continue. But nothing else seemed to be forthcoming.

Zelda exhaled slowly.

"May I state some observations?"

Link made a gesture that invited her to continue.

"You loved Mipha," she said gently. "I've been giving it some thought. I truly don't know if you felt romantic love for her, but you certainly cared for her very deeply. She was your best friend when you were a child. You grew up together in Zora's Domain. You were always so happy to see her. Freer. You were so serious back then. You had the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, and truly you were the only one who was prepared for the Calamity. The other Champions… sometimes they treated it almost like a game. But not you."

"But… but I didn't recognize her," Link protested. "If she was so important to me, how could I not recognize her?"

"Sometimes," Zelda said, thinking back to a field full of Guardians and a flash of golden light, "we don't recognize the people who are important to us until it's too late."

She hadn't realized she'd tightened her grip on Link's hand until his thumb smoothed over her knuckles. She jumped at the caress, startled, and looked at Link in surprise. He was watching her with concern, as though something momentous and alarming had just occurred to him.

As though he'd just realized he wasn't the only one grieving.

His next words came slowly. "Princess, are you alright?"

"I'm quite fine, thank you," Zelda said past the sudden jaggedness in her throat. She didn't want to talk with Link about her own pain. Couldn't. If she did, she would fall apart, and there would be no putting her back together. "I'm more concerned about you." Link didn't look convinced. The thought of him asking questions and digging deeper was enough to fill Zelda with a kind of panic, so she pushed forward with the previous line of conversation. "Mipha may have died, Link, but you did not. It was a very near thing, but — but if she really did love you, as you say she did, would she not have been happy to see you alive, and grateful that you had a second chance, even if it wasn't with her?"

"I…" This was enough to distract him. He looked puzzled. "I don't know."

"Mipha knew her duty," Zelda said, seized by feeling. "She knew that no matter what else happened, you had to live. That even though she'd failed, if you lived, it was all worth it. Even if you didn't recognize her, even if you looked at her with the eyes of a stranger, it would be worth it, because you were alive, and there was still hope. Not just for Hyrule, but for you. That you'd get a good life. Find happiness. She could — she could go to her fate knowing that you were alive and that you would be alright. She wouldn't want you to punish yourself for not remembering. Because all that matters is that you're alive."

Zelda finished her little speech, her chest heaving with emotion. Link was studying her with an inscrutable expression. He looked… suspicious, almost.

As though Zelda hadn't really been talking about Mipha's feelings.

Which she hadn't, she realized with a sickening lurch.

She fought down a blush and forced herself to meet Link's eyes.

"You have a second chance at life," she told him. "And this time, you have a future. There's no Calamity weighing you down. No destiny guiding you. You're free to do whatever you please. You can't choose Mipha, but you can honor her memory by living a full life. So what do you plan to do with it?"

"I don't know," Link said slowly. He still looked suspicious. Apparently for Zelda, old habits died hard: she decided to fill the uncomfortable space between them with chatter.

"You were the youngest knight ever appointed to the Imperial Guard," Zelda said. "After you drew the sword, you were appointed my own personal knight and were made captain of my body guard. Even without the Master Sword, I'm sure you would have received that appointment. You were considered the most brilliant swordsman seen in an age," Zelda told him. "You still are. Perhaps you'd like to train the men and women of Hyrule to fight? Help eradicate monsters? Or," she said, seized by another idea, "you love to eat. Why not become a cook? Write a cookbook of all the recipes you learned on your adventures. You could be anything you wanted."

"I don't know what I want," Link said again. "But, Princess… What about you?"

"What _about_ me?" Zelda didn't want to talk about herself. She really, really didn't.

"What are you going to do with this new life you have?"

There was only one answer to that. Only one answer she was prepared to give.

"It's not my choice," she told him. "I will do whatever the people require of me. I am the last Bosphoramus, after all. So if the people of Hyrule decide they require a queen, I will do my duty."

"But what do you _want_?" Link pushed. "Surely you must want something?"

What she wanted was for the conversation to be over. But how could she say that in a way that didn't make Link feel as though she was no longer willing to talk to him?

"I didn't think I would survive this long," Zelda said. "Truthfully, I haven't given it much thought. I'm simply glad to be alive."

Link looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway.

He didn't ask her any more questions, and she didn't offer any more advice. She was too preoccupied: she really _hadn't_ given her wants any thought. For the past six months, she'd been merely existing: conferring with Impa, with the elders of the other tribes and villages, discussing the best ways to make the kingdom inhabitable. Not even unified — just inhabitable. Roads. Buildings. Watershed management. The trading of crops and other resources.

Could she be queen? Was that even what she wanted?

She didn't know.

"I'll follow you," Link said suddenly, startling Zelda out of her thoughts. She jumped at the suddenness of his declaration and turned to look at him, confused.

"What?"

"I'll follow you." He looked stubborn and determined. His eyes were lit by a fire that Zelda hadn't seen in a century. It warmed her straight through. "If they ask you to rule. I'll follow you. I'll help you in any way that I can."

It meant a lot, hearing those words from him.

"Thank you, Link," she said. "And if they don't?"

Link shrugged uncomfortably.

"I don't know," he said. "But I have the feeling we should stick together. You said a few days ago that — that you know what it's like to be alone. We shouldn't be alone. We're the only ones who understand…" he trailed off, as though his words had failed him. He wasn't smiling. His blue eyes were intense, and the determination on his face took Zelda's breath away. "I'll follow you," he said again.

What could she say to that? She had a sudden memory of her daydreams from before: Link on his knee before her, but this time, with love in his eyes. Which was ridiculous, of course. But even still... she didn't want Link to stay with her because she was his only option. She didn't want to be just another duty. Another burden. She wanted him to be happy.

All these thoughts flashed through Zelda's mind in an instant. Link watched her face expectantly, eager anticipation melting into... nervousness, perhaps? Confusion? Her answer seemed important to him, so Zelda summoned a wan smile.

"I would be honored," she said weakly. Link frowned at her as though befuddled by her reaction. Zelda turned away from him— her mind was too busy whirling through a jumble of confused thoughts. Thankfully, Link seemed content to leave her to her thoughts for the moment. They merely sat side by side, barely touching, in the firelight.

Zelda wanted to get up. To go for a walk. But a look at the darkness spread against the windows like ichor changed her mind. She didn't want to go out in the darkness. Wouldn't. Couldn't. Too many memories waited for her her in the shadows.

No, that wasn't it. She forced herself to admit the truth: She wasn't afraid of the darkness. She was afraid of who she was when she was in the dark. She was afraid of the darkness that was still in her.

She needed a distraction.

"I think I'll make us some dinner," Zelda said, rising from the little nest of blankets. "What would you like to eat? I'm in the mood to cook something complicated. A curry, perhaps?"

Link didn't respond. He watched her bustle around with a frown, tracking every movement with eyes that saw too much. But whatever it was he saw in her, he mercifully kept it to himself. Zelda didn't know for herself what was in her mind or her heart… only that she cared deeply for Link, and that she ached for his pain, and that she wanted him to be happy. As for herself, she'd never given it thought. She didn't think happiness was in her destiny. All she knew was that she would do her duty, whatever that might be...

...and that she was afraid, terrified, of the darkness that waited within her.

* * *

 _Uploaded on October 26, 2017_


	3. Chapter 3: Healing

**A/N: Here we have the final chapter of Grief. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Don't forget to review, and keep an eye out for more from me soon. And if you're looking for something to read in the meantime, I recommend looking at CrazygurlMadness' "One Last Year."**

 **See you all again soon.**

 **-L**

* * *

 _"_ _Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them."_

 _―_ _Leo Tolstoy_

She was back in the darkness of the Calamity, in the half-trance of prayer.

She was acutely aware of being surrounded by evil: it was like hot, moist breath on the back of her neck, like clammy hands on her skin, like the promise of biting into ripe fruit, only to find it rotten. Once, in the desert with Urbosa, Zelda had gotten dehydrated, and she remembered how sweet it had felt to drink water: she felt, now, like she had when she was thirsty in the desert, and the evil around her whispered: drink. Succumb. Give yourself to me.

But she wouldn't. Her body had locked in place. Her knees were folded, feet tucked beneath her, hands clasped. She didn't think she could move if she wanted to. The physical pain had vanished a long time ago. Now she was a woman trapped in a statue, and she couldn't flex even her mind, couldn't pull it from the task at hand. Restraining The evil was the only thing she could do now, and she reached out to the barriers she'd pulled around Hyrule Castle like curtains, felt the Calamity jerk backwards, snarling, like a sprinting mad dog reaching the end of its chain.

She could tell that the aura of the Calamity was racing, roaring, around the periphery of its prison. She could feel it distantly, swirling against her barriers. But she remained focused. This was her duty, her task. She had to keep the Calamity contained. She had to stay focused until Link woke up.

 _We have been one for so long,_ the Calamity whispered in her ear. _You've dwelt within me for the duration of your life five times over, and then some. You are part of me, and I am part of you. You will never be able to escape me._

The Calamity had shown her visions. She was never sure what was real or what was a nightmare. She'd seen fields burning, crops withering away in drought, the people of Hyrule crying out for mercy. She'd seen monsters carving their way through cities, seen children murdered by Guardians. She'd seen death. She'd seen rape. She'd seen torture, seen every monstrosity the Calamity could summon in an attempt to break her faith.

 _Princesses don't lose faith,_ Zelda chanted in her mind. And on the heels of that thought, another:

 _Link won't fail me._

And then a vision, a new one: of white hills dotted with luminous stone. Sparkling pools of water shone beneath a warm sun. A Zora woman, heartbreaking in her familiarity, stood in the center of a shallow pond. Her crimson scales flashed in the golden light, and her clawed hand was curled around a trident. It was Mipha, healthy and whole, smiling in the sunshine.

She held out a hand to Zelda. Zelda's muscles locked. It's an illusion, she reminded herself. She couldn't move. Couldn't reach back, couldn't break her prayer, couldn't lose faith.

But Mipha hadn't been reaching out to Zelda. A man walked through Zelda, so familiar that she gasped. It was Link. He was alive, he was safe—

He took Mipha's hand and pulled her in. Her arms went around his neck, and his hands settled at her narrow waist. The sunlight caught his brilliant hair, and he smiled down at Mipha, completely happy.

"I'm so glad we ran away," Mipha said to Link, looking up at him with a smile. "Without the princess' power, Hyrule was doomed anyway. I'm glad we saved ourselves."

"Yes," said Link. His grip on Mipha's waist, though gentle, became a bit more possessive. "Hyrule can burn. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this."

He dipped his head forward and caught Mipha's lips in his own. Mipha leaned into the touch. Zelda watched, transfixed, horrified. Around them, the world slowly caught fire. The sky went smokey, and the sun grew red tendrils. But even still, Mipha and Link kissed, becoming frantic, and Mipha began to pull at Link's clothes.

The water of the shallow pond began to bubble and boil around their shins. They kept kissing, even as fire raged around them and smoke blew overhead. Hyrule was dying around them, and they— and they—

"They never cared about you," the Calamity whispered. "They would have been happier if you'd never been born. You killed them. You stole their happiness. Give up."

"I won't," Zelda said back. "Never."

"Join me," said the Calamity. "Be one with me forever. Together, we can be great."

"No," Zelda said. She screwed her eyes shut. She breathed in slowly, then exhaled. Mipha had never run away. She had died in the battle. And Link had gone to the Shrine of Resurrection… and then…

She remembered. "I defeated you. You're dead. You can't hurt me anymore."

"I'm part of you," said the Calamity. "Forever."

"You are not," Zelda responded firmly, and opened her eyes.

She was lying on her little pallet before the fire. She sat up. She was drenched in sweat. She used unsteady hands to push her drenched hair out of her face, and exhaled shakily.

Just another nightmare. Nothing to be afraid of.

Zelda leaned her head back, shutting her eyes. She felt the heat of the fire on her throat and the stretch of muscles. It had taken her so long to regain her strength that even now it felt like a luxury to be able to move her body. She rolled her head one way on her neck, then the other, willing her racing heart to calm as she breathed through parted lips.

Everything was fine. The Calamity had gone.

But it had taken Zelda and Link's hearts with it.

Here in the darkness, so much like the Calamity but vacant of the Calamity's evil, Zelda could admit painful truths to herself that she couldn't face in the light. She'd loved Link before. Had the Calamity shown her a vision of Link and Mipha, it might have broken her. But it never thought to do that, never thought to use love against her, because it didn't know the power and pain of loving. It had shown her darkness, desire, torture — but never love.

And it would have been that love that would have broken her.

Yes: she'd loved Link before. But so much had changed. He was a completely different person now, with a different life and different memories. And she… well, she felt like a husk some days. She buried the emptiness deep within her, kept herself busy so she wouldn't know… but the Calamity was right. Part of it was in her now, a vacuum of darkness and pain that would never leave her soul.

She felt filthy. Tainted. She wanted a bath. She wanted to immerse herself in one of the Goddess springs and purify herself, body and soul. She wanted to fling herself into a bonfire and burn away the darkness that still lurked within her. She buried her head in her hands.

She wanted to go home.

Not to the castle as it was now: a blackened, ruined wreck. She wanted to go home, to those sunny days before the Calamity swallowed her whole and burned Hyrule to the ground. To the research lab, to a castle full of light and music and fashion and politics. To her mother's rose garden, fragrant and familiar.

But home was gone. Hyrule, even, was gone. She'd spent a hundred years being tortured, fighting the darkness with every breath and thought.

She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't want to feel this way anymore.

Like a woman sleepwalking, Zelda rose from her little nest and walked across the house. She paused with her hand on the door latch. She needed to find someone… She needed to go...

Her eyes drifted to the stairs. She didn't have to be alone.

Her hands fell away from the latch. She thought about Link in his grief, and how he'd clung to her hand, let her lean against him. Feet moving of their own volition, she made her way up into the loft.

Link was lying in the bed, tangled up in his own sheets. Heedless of the danger that could come from waking him, Zelda shook his shoulder with a clammy hand.

"Link," she said softly. "Wake up."

Link came awake with a snorting snuffle. But he didn't attack her. Instead, he blinked up at Zelda blearily.

"Prinsses? Wassron?"

"I…" Zelda's throat caught. What could she say? I'm scared? I'm homesick? I'm terrified and don't want to be alone anymore? "I had a bad dream. Can I… stay up here? Just for the rest of the night?"

"Kay," Link mumbled, clearly mostly asleep. He scooted over enough that Zelda could slip into the sheets and curl against his side.

In the bed, she felt warm, and safe. Link's scent surrounded her, reassuring her. Everything was alright. She was safe. She felt his arm come around her automatically, drawing her close like a giant pillow, and she let him pull her against him. She felt him snuggling into her hair, but her mind wouldn't quiet.

"Link?" she asked quietly.

"Muh?"

"Would you have run away with Mipha if she asked you?"

This seemed to rouse him more than anything else had. He lifted his head off the pillow enough that he could look at her through bleary blue eyes.

"What's this about?" he asked her.

Zelda felt imminently foolish. She was glad the shadows hid her blush.

"Nothing," she said. "Just — just silliness."

He rolled onto his side so that he was facing her. Her wrist and hand were between them, and the arm he hadn't curled around her came down, his fingers tangling with hers.

"I don't remember much," Link admitted, his voice husky with sleep. "But I know that I never, ever would have abandoned you. Ever. Not even for Mipha."

"But you don't know if you loved her," Zelda said, hating how small her voice was.

Link shifted, and Zelda found herself pulled slightly closer to him.

"I don't remember," he agreed. "But I was the hero. Am the hero," he added. "The hero never shirks his duty."

"Neither does the princess," Zelda said softly. She curled a little more comfortably against Link. There were tears in her eyes, she realized. When she spoke, her voice was thick. "Princesses do their duty. Princesses aren't afraid."

Though he lay still beside her, Zelda could feel Link thinking rapidly. She almost regretted waking him up, but she was scared: of the darkness outside, and of the darkness in herself.

"You don't have to be a princess here if you don't want to," he told her. "Here, in this house, you can be all the things that princesses can't. You're safe here, and — and I'm here for you, too. However you need me."

Zelda exhaled shakily.

"Are you sure, Link?" she asked softly.

His grip on her arm shifted, his fingers trailing down to rest on her hip.

"I'm sure," he told her.

Zelda curled against his chest, and his other arm came around her. She was crying now, really and truly in earnest.

"I'm so afraid," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm terrified."

"Of what?" Link asked. His voice was a whisper in her hair.

"Of the darkness. The Calamity," Zelda breathed into his nightshirt.

"Pr… Zelda," Link said. Her name rolled from his lips like one of her prayers. "It's gone. You sealed it away."

Zelda shook her head. He didn't understand. He stroked her hair soothingly, waiting for her to come to herself.

"It's always with me," she managed after a few moments of careful breathing. "In my memories. And my heart."

Link sighed, long and deep. She felt his breath ghosting through her hair.

"Come here," he said, tugging her closer, so she was completely within the circle of his arms, her legs tangled with his. He wrapped himself around her tightly. "You're safe. There's no Calamity here. Only me. Alright?"

"Alright," Zelda agreed meekly.

He nestled her a little more comfortably against him. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, beating steady. It was slowing.

"You did the right thing in coming up here." His voice was low and soothing. He sounded content. "Whenever you're afraid, come find me. I'll always protect you."

"Thank you," Zelda said, slowly wrapping her free arm around him. She shut her eyes and breathed in the comforting smell of him. "Thank you, Link."

He smiled against her hair.

"You're welcome," he said. "Now go back to sleep."

"Alright," Zelda agreed quietly.

It was hideously improper. Princesses didn't sleep in the same bed as their knight, tangled up like lovers. But here in this house, she wasn't a princess. She was Zelda, and she was scared, and Link was offering her safe harbor. She felt protected. Cared for. The comfort of him washed the last of her nightmares away.

Though Zelda had been certain she wouldn't sleep again that night, between one breath and the next, she sunk down into comforting dreams of home.

* * *

Before the Calamity, Link had been a disciplined knight with a will of steel. He'd risen at or before dawn each day to practice his weapons. He'd once told Zelda that waking up was the hardest part of every day, and that if he had his way he'd do nothing but sleep and eat. She hadn't believed him at the time, but this new Link had proven that the old Link had been telling the truth. Prying him out of bed some mornings had felt like nothing so much as trying to get a pearl out of an oyster. Link was decidedly not a morning person, and wanted to do little more than dream the days away.

That's why it was such a surprise when Zelda woke up alone in Link's bed. She could hear low humming and the sizzle of a pot, and the unmistakable smell of breakfast. Zelda sleepily rolled out of bed and made her way to the edge of the loft. She peered over the railing. Link was cooking by the fire, and looked up as she poked her head over the edge of the loft.

"Good morning," he said. "Breakfast?"

"Nguh," mumbled Zelda, disoriented. When they'd traveled together back before, he'd woken her every day with breakfast and a sunny smile. Her heart clenched in her chest at how familiar he looked. But she still hadn't answered him, she realized, watching him watch her expectantly. "Sure."

"Come on down."

All of Zelda's things were downstairs: fresh clothes, her hairbrush, everything. So she finger-combed her hair and tidied her wrinkled clothing as best she could before making her way down to where Link was humming before the fire. After being melancholy and lost for so long, it was wonderful to see him looking cheerful. Zelda found herself smiling at him as he bustled around over the cook pot.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked her.

She'd slept in his bed, in his arms. Her cheeks flushed at the reminder.

"Very well, thank you," she said, blushing and looking down. "And you?"

"I also slept well."

"Good." Zelda swallowed. They'd spent the night together. Granted, it had been entirely chaste, but still. She'd had romantic feelings for him before the Calamity. And… and this new Link intrigued her. "Thank you for… for comforting me."

"You're welcome." The brilliance of Link's smile dimmed. "But I've realized I've been the one doing all the talking. Seems a bit backwards. You used to talk more than enough for the two of us."

Zelda shrugged uncomfortably.

"It's your turn to be the chatterbox, I suppose."

"No. You don't want to talk about what happened to you while I was sleeping. I understand," he told her as he slid a plate of eggs in front of her. "But you need to talk about it with someone. Eat up."

"I — oh, but, there's really nothing to talk about." Zelda eyed her eggs. Bribery eggs, she thought.

Link snorted. "Liar. You spent a century surrounded by the incarnation of evil. It had to take a toll, and you've been avoiding facing that. So either you can eat your eggs and talk to me, or you can eat your eggs and tell me who you want me to go get for you to talk to. Either way, you're eating your eggs and you're talking about what happened."

Zelda glared at Link even as she forked a fluffy egg into her mouth.

"You're just trying to distract me from your grief," she said.

"No," said Link patiently. "I've been working through it with your help. Now it's your turn. You can't avoid it forever. It'll only get worse if you try."

Zelda thought about the nightmares. The frequency with which she was getting them — more and more, in fact. And she remembered what Purah had said about grief being like poison that needed to flow through the system in order to leave it.

Did she want to talk to anyone else about this? Could she?

Her friends from before were all too old and had dealt with their own suffering. She couldn't put this burden on them. Urbosa was gone entirely. Paya wouldn't know how to help. Which left…

Zelda gave in. There was no time like the present, she supposed. Link wanted her to talk. So she would talk now, while it was bright, and her courage was with her.

She took a fortifying breath and cast her mind back.

"You died," she said. "You died in my arms. And then I was all alone."

He stirred.

"What was it like?"

"I felt hopeless," she said. "You were gone. Everyone was gone. I wanted to die too." She stared at her eggs. "While Purah and Robbie sealed you and the Sheikah Slate in the Shrine of Resurrection, I went back to Castletown and temporarily sealed the Calamity away. I returned the sword to its pedestal, and made arrangements with Impa for how she should guide you when you awoke. Then…. Then, I went back to the castle. The wards wouldn't hold for long without me." Her appetite was souring. She pushed her eggs around on her plate, watching the trail of moisture they left in their wake. "I walked across the bridge in Castle Town and then… it swallowed me."

Her mind touched upon it briefly, then flitted away: the blackness rearing up before her, a glint in its eye. The sensation of being engulfed by evil. A single, panicking moment where she thought that all was lost… except her powers surged out, protecting her, as her body folded into the familiar position of prayer…

Link watched her push her eggs. When it became clear she wasn't going to continue, he cleared his throat gently.

"Were you afraid?" he asked her.

"No," she said, releasing a shaky breath. "I mean, there was fear. Of course it was terrifying, seeing it above me, feeling its jaws close around me. But I was more afraid that I… that I would fail you. I knew that I needed to buy you time to heal. I was ready to die," she said. "But I wanted to hold out for as long as I could."

Link seemed to hold his breath for a long moment as he looked across the table.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For saving my life. And for keeping the Calamity contained while I healed. I'm sorry you had to do it alone." He frowned. "I should have been there. I should have fought harder. Stayed by your side."

"No." Zelda pushed her plate away. "No. You did everything you could. It was my fault. If only I'd realized how to unlock my power sooner, I—" She stopped. "I could have saved you. Saved everyone." She pulled her hands into her lap and clenched her napkin in her fists. "It showed them to me, you know," she told the table. "How they died. I had to relive it over and over — my father, Urbosa, and Daruk… Revali…" she looked up at Link. "Mipha," she said softly. "I watched them die again and again and again. It was one of the Calamity's favorite things to show me. To try to break my will."

"But it didn't work," Link said. "You overcame it."

"I did," Zelda agreed. She pushed a hand through her messy hair. And she gave voice to what had been worrying her, the niggling fear that had finally manifested in her nightmare last night. "But, Link. There's something you need to understand. If it had been cleverer, I wouldn't have been able to fight it."

He looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The Calamity was hatred and malice incarnate," she said. "It didn't understand the power of gentler emotions. It tortured me with visions of pain and destruction. I could stand up to that. But if it had used my heart against me… if it had used friendship or love to tempt me…" she exhaled. Shook her head. "I don't know if I could have fought it and won. It showed me my loved ones dying. But all that did was give me strength. If it had shown my friends or father alive… or promised me it could bring them back to life… " She swallowed. Her throat was suddenly thick. "If it had shown them living life without me, being happy, I couldn't… I couldn't…"

Her ability to speak escaped her. Zelda stared resolutely at the table, willing away the fierce tide of emotion that had consumed her. The nightmare she'd had — the dream of Mipha and Link being in love, starting their life together, abandoning her, letting the world burn — it rose to the surface of her mind, chewing at her. Scraping at her until she was raw.

If — if she was alone — if Link left her, she'd have nothing—

A warm hand closed over her own.

"Tell me what you're thinking?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

Zelda inhaled carefully through her nose. She swallowed once, then again.

"I don't want to be alone," she said, her voice small and wavering. "I spent so long alone — I don't want to be alone again—"

His fingers tightened over her own.

"You won't," he told her. "For as long as you want me at your side, I'll be there."

Zelda thought back to her nightmare.

"But what if you find someone?" She asked him. "Fall in love. Want to get married. What then?"

Zelda heard Link exhale heavily, as though he'd been waiting for her to ask that question, and now that she had he was full of dread.

"Well," he said after a long moment of thought, "Even though I don't remember before, and all I've known is this, I don't— I can't— there's nobody who could…"

He trailed off. Zelda looked up and watched him think. His lips were pursed, and he looked very much like a man at war with himself. She watched as he pushed his own plate aside and leaned forward. His eyes were intent on hers, and she felt a little flutter in her stomach at having the intensity of his focus placed solely on her.

"One of the reasons why I've been mourning… I felt so much guilt at the idea that Mipha had loved me and that I couldn't remember her enough to know if I loved her back. It felt like a bad way to honor her. I felt guilt for… moving on from everything, I guess. Without really grieving her. Did I love her? Have I lost my soulmate, and will never remember her? Or was her love one-sided? I don't know which would be more cruel. And…" he frowned. "The idea of that, the confusion… that flung me into a spiral. I wasn't sure how I could reconcile having a happy and full life with the tragedies that happened before. I didn't know if I needed to mourn Mipha… or if I needed to mourn myself." He looked at Zelda, all earnestness. "Do you understand?"

"I think so," Zelda said.

"Good," Link said with a nod. "But then… then you came here. And you reminded me that I'm not alone. And that even though I haven't mourned, you mourned for a century. So… so between the two of us, it must balance out. Right?"

Zelda wasn't sure mourning worked like that. But… he was correct in his own way. He couldn't remember anything. She remembered too much. Between the two of them, they were even.

"I don't want you to stay with me because you feel like it absolves you," Zelda said anyway, just to be safe.

"That's not it," Link said. He sounded frustrated now. He studied Zelda intently for a moment, as though measuring her against some idea. Then he nodded, as though he'd made up his mind. "You loved me back before, didn't you?"

Zelda felt herself blushing. But he'd saved her from an existence worse than death. She owed him a little honesty.

"We were both very different then," she said. Then, because the answer seemed to matter to him, she swallowed her pride. "I did. I think it was the fear of losing you — Link, a man for whom I had romantic feelings, rather than Link the Hero — that unlocked my powers." Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "But that was so long ago, Link. And we are very different people now." She traced a finger across the whorls of wood in the surface of the table. "So much has changed. I barely recognize either of us from who we were."

"I know," Link said. "And for what it's worth, I don't — I don't love you," he told her. When she frowned to ask why it mattered, he held up his hands. "I don't know you well enough to love you. But…" the tips of his ears pinkened. "I do like you quite a bit. And I'd like to see where that takes us," he confessed.

Zelda sat back, surprised at the turn in conversation. She took a moment to study Link's expression. He looked almost like a boy trying hard to be brave: earnest, and afraid, and determined, and hopeful.

He didn't love her. But he liked her, and he wanted to stay with her. That was certainly a start.

Feeling a well of relief bubbling in her chest, she smiled at him. He was so dear to her. This new Link was far more raw and open than he'd been in the past. And yet she was still just as delighted by him as she'd ever been, and knew that given time, that fondness could deepen into something far more power than the simple crush she'd had on him before.

"I don't know you well enough to love you yet, either," she told him. "But I like you quite a bit as well. So I think that we should see where that takes us. Only, will…" she paused and groped for words. "Will you try to have patience with me as I work through all of the difficult memories I have, and when I'm afraid of the past, can I come to you? For comfort, like I did last night?"

"Of course," Link said. The fondness Zelda felt in her chest was echoed in his blue eyes. "As long as you're alright with me peppering you with questions about the past and what our lives were like."

"That's agreeable," Zelda said. She smiled uncertainly. "So are we… is this courting, then?"

Link grinned.

"I think it is," he said. "May I come around this table and kiss you?"

His words sent a thrill through her. Zelda smiled at him, giddiness rising within her.

"Yes," she told him. "You may."

Link pushed out of his chair and walked around the table. Zelda also rose, feeling nervous as he stopped before her. He stood close, but not so close that their chests were touching.

Slowly, with the deliberately unthreatening motions she'd seen him use on a spooked horse before, he raised a hand. He fanned his fingers across her cheek, pushing a strand of blonde hair out of Zelda's face. She remembered in a sudden panic that she hadn't brushed her hair yet, hadn't brushed her teeth yet, must look and smell like a fright… but when she summoned the courage to look at Link's face and say so, she found herself frozen by the intent look in his blue eyes.

And then he leaned forward, capturing her partially-open lips in his own, and her arguments were driven right out of her head.

It felt nice. Warm. Comforting and safe. As he kissed her, she felt a fluttering low in her belly, a tingling in her limbs. She stepped forward, closing the gap between their bodies, and molded herself more comfortably against him. His arms came around her, holding her close, and he tilted the angle of his head just a bit to deepen the kiss.

 _Oh._ That… that was very nice indeed.

Gently, he pulled away, stepping back just far enough that he and Zelda could smile at each other. She was glad that he was her height: it was nice that she could look in his eyes so easily.

"Well," said Zelda with a smile. "I suppose that's quite a nice start to this."

Link grinned at her, exposing a deep dimple in one cheek.

"Good," he said. "May that kiss be the first of many to come."

On impulse, Zelda stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Link. She notched her chin on his shoulder and squeezed, grateful for the warmth and comfort and presence of him.

"Thank you, Link," she said. "For being here for me. And for everything."

"You're welcome," he said. He leaned his head against hers as he hugged her back. "Thank you for waiting for me."

Zelda inhaled happily. The taint of grief and pain was still there, deep within her — within both of them, she was sure. It would always be there. But they had each other, and Goddess willing, what was between them would only grow.

Zelda thought about saying a prayer, but didn't. She didn't need to pray anymore. All her prayers had already been answered, and they came in the form of one diminutive, stubborn swordsman.

Zelda smiled happily into Link's shoulder.

Yes. All her prayers had been answered. And she was sure that no matter what came next, Link would be at her side.

All would be well.

* * *

 _Uploaded Thursday, November 2, 2017_


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